


Need of Healing

by Autumn_Llleaves



Series: The Chronicles of King Daeron the Third [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Loneliness, Marriage of Convenience, Political Alliances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Llleaves/pseuds/Autumn_Llleaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyrion Lannister stumbles upon someone totally unexpected in the House of Black and White, when Braavos is just recovering from a major plague.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tyrion

It was warm and mild but not overly hot. Winter of a sort was reigning in Essos as well. Warm and mild – good for people, but also good for diseases. 

When Queen Daenerys came to Braavos, she was told that it had recently been hit by a horrible plague, wiping out almost a third of the population. Life was barely restoring its usual pace, the Braavosi said. 

Daenerys didn't want to stay here long anyway, but now she was anxious to get out as soon as possible. The city was unusually quiet, and practically the only audible sounds were wails and cries, as the survivors discovered their loved ones dead. 

Tyrion couldn't agree with his new Queen more: the quicker they were finished here the better. They had to negotiate with the Iron Bank and to secure the help of the Faceless, should it be needed during the upcoming conquest of Westeros.

Daenerys chose to deal with the Bank herself, while sending Tyrion to the House of Black and White.

"Not because I'm afraid of the assassins," she laughed. "Though I am, I confess. But I predict the bankers will be even more fearsome when they see a Lannister of Casterly Rock by my side, and me asking for money!"

It was a wise move, of course. Besides, Tyrion was glad to get away from Jorah Mormont's jealous glances. After being finally pardoned by Daenerys that bear knight had lost whatever remained of his head. He was by the Queen's side constantly, gazing at her with eager adoration, and took every chance to touch her, at least her hands. Tyrion was wickedly pleased every time Daenerys smiled at _his_ joke or thanked _him_. The anger and jealousy were always so plainly written on Ser Jorah's face! But it was every time the same way, so Tyrion eventually got tired of it. 

That's why he didn't argue with the Queen's decision at all. Naturally, he was also curious to meet the famed Faceless assassins.

It took some time for Daenerys to decide to arrange a meeting with them. She was opposed to the idea of paid assassination in general. Tyrion was less scrupulous, after all he had been through, but he was worried about the price they might ask. For someone like, for example, Varys, a Faceless Man might demand the whole of Casterly Rock. 

"We must keep them as last resort," Daenerys finally sighed. "I trust in my dragons, but they aren't almighty."

"In a place like the Mountains of the Moon, I tell you, they would be practically useless," Tyrion added. 

So he was now walking to the imposing House of Black and White, both frightened and thrilled, like on the day when he first saw dragons.

"Strange city, Braavos," he mused. "A guild of killers, the most dangerous ones, living free and acknowledged by everyone!"

He thought of what he was going to tell them. Queen Daenerys didn't want them to kill anyone right now, but she wished them _not_ to kill any of her supporters. In advance, Tyrion had a list of her most wanted enemies, so that he could agree on a price for each of them right now.

He glanced through the list, and images from King's Landing flooded his mind. All the people of the small council. Everyone in Joffrey's (or Tommen's, wasn't it now?) Kingsguard. And at the top, the two underlined names. Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. Queen Cersei Lannister.

Tyrion gritted his teeth. Cersei was his for the killing, he wouldn't pass it over to any Faceless Man. Jaime... He still had a spark of guilt about Jaime. He still felt he couldn't, just _couldn't_ , murder the brother who had, after all, done much for him. _But I could even less bear it if he would be given the gift by the Faceless. The Queen will never spare him, it will be better to kill him myself. For Tysha. For being the greatest traitor of them all._ Tysha... It has been so many years, he couldn't picture her distinctly anymore. Details eluded him. But still he remembered much. The only woman who had ever truly loved him, his first wife. Always laughter and playfulness and teasing. 

Such a contrast to the second one. Sansa Stark he recalled much more clearly. The very representation of the North with its snows and ice. Even her flaming red hair actually looked cold. Austere, dignified,  _courtesy is a lady's armor_ , but underneath – just as vulnerable, fragile and helpless as Tysha. Tyrion wondered where Sansa was now. Held for ransom, perhaps – by some sellsword or minor knight waiting for Cersei to raise the price for her head higher. Or rescued by some Stark loyalist. 

He hoped it was the latter. Despite Sansa never showing him any affection, he felt sorry for her.

A voice from the House of Black and White brought him to the present:

"What brings you here, my lord?"

A kindly old man, clad in black and white robes, smiled at him welcomingly.  _These lads certainly are skilled in disguise_. 

"I am Lord Tyrion Lannister, here on behalf of Daenerys Targaryen," Tyrion began as he walked up the stairs. "She is soon to launch a war on Westeros..." he continued to explain Daenerys's terms. The man listened with quiet attention.

"Here's the list of the people she might want to get rid of. I thought we could discuss the possible prices now."

"Times may change," the Faceless Man noted. "People may change."

"But Her Grace's will won't change towards these ones," Tyrion produced the list.

"You speak of what you do not know."

"I'm her Hand!"

"But not her brain or the foreseer of her future."

Tyrion chuckled appreciatively. The kindly man, it seemed, was a match for him in playing with words.

"Still, you might consider it. Both Her Grace and I will be generous."

"Has the Queen not learned anything about high prices in her life?"

"She has. If a price is too high, there will be no more discussion. Now, look at these names and tell me _your_ price."

The kindly man didn't even glance at the list:

"You or the Queen will come when you are certain. Besides, don't you want to give some of these people the gift yourself?"

"You're wise," Tyrion acknowledged simply. "But all you're telling me I already know. Tell me something I don't know and I will withdraw the list for now."

He meant it only to provoke some straight answer from the Faceless one. Was the guild ready to serve Daenerys – or not? But the kindly man merely smiled again, nothing in his face betraying sarcasm or amusement:

"Fine. I shall tell you what you don't know, Lord Tyrion Lannister. Your lady wife is right here, in the House of Black and White, begging for the gift to be given to her."

For a moment, Tyrion thought the man was mocking him. But he stretched his hand in a welcoming gesture, inviting Tyrion to see for himself... Could it be?.. Was it the truth – or someone posed as Sansa? But the Faceless Men would have surely recognized an impostor. And why Sansa, who clutched to her life so desperately, was now begging for the gift? 

"Y-you are serious?" he stammered.

"Sansa Stark of Winterfell is here," the kindly man nodded. "Come inside. Follow me."

Dazed, Tyrion allowed himself to be led across a dark hall to a small pool. Two figures were sitting by the pool's side, a taller and a shorter one.

"Now, eat some more fruit," a girl's voice echoed from there. After some pondering Tyrion recognized it as Arya Stark's no less. Arya was clad in a hooded robe that hid her face... Was she Faceless now? He felt that nothing could surprise him any longer.

"Stop it. I want to drink from this pool," another voice replied, and Tyrion's heart stilled for a moment. It was his wife's.

But how changed it was! If he thought it monotonous and cold earlier, it was nothing compared to this. In King's Landing, there were audible traces of emotions, evident even through her armor of courtesy. Gratitude for his kindness, fear, grief... Now there was nothing. Sansa sounded absolutely disinterested in life.

"I will not allow you!"

"You are Faceless. It's your duty. Give me a black cup."

"Sansa, _no_! Even the kindly man says I'll never be truly Faceless. I am a Stark of Winterfell, at least with you. You must live."

"I don't want to."

"I'll never forgive myself if you die! _He_ wouldn't have wanted you to die! He sat by your side all the time, he caught the fever so that _you_ would live!"

"Quiet, Arya. Give me a black cup and go enjoy your lover's kisses."

"Sansa, I will not leave if you will not l _i_ ve."

The world seemed to be turning upside down. Literally. Tyrion felt dizzy. The Stark girls, both of them. In the House of Black and White. Both, it seemed, had found paramours. Sansa wanting to die – apparently because of losing hers to the Plague.

The argument between the sisters went all over again, and he realized he had to interrupt.

"My ladies," Tyrion stepped out of the shadows. "A most unexpected meeting, I must say."


	2. Arya

Arya jumped up and instinctively reached for Needle. Sansa only shuddered a little. 

Out of the shadow waddled Tyrion Lannister. Worn out, dressed in a foreign fashion, but still recognizable.

"You!" Arya exclaimed, at a loss for words. What could it all mean? Did Tyrion come here to search for Sansa? Was he mayhaps acquitted of the accusation of Joffrey's murder? Or was he, on the contrary, intent on joining the Faceless?

Sansa raised her head.

"My lord husband," she said dully. 

For a while, all three were silent. Then Tyrion seemed to get over the shock (or remember his duty) and hurried to Sansa's side. 

"My poor little wife! Whatever has happened to you?" he hugged the girl, pushing Arya out of the way. "How, pray, did you end up in Braavos?"

"I came here by ship, my lord husband," came a cold reply.

Tyrion looked up to meet Arya's eyes:

"Sorry for the lack of courteous greetings, m'lady, but I think you should tell me right now what it's all about." 

Arya narrowed her eyes:

"So you would take her with you?"

"No, I will leave her here to commit suicide. I thought a Faceless girl would be more intelligent."

"More so than you suppose. Right now I'm thinking whether to trust you, Lannister."

"Oh, _please_ ," Tyrion grimaced. "My head's wanted by my sweet sister, and I've shot my father with a crossbow. Indeed no man could be more loved by his family. Now, the only family I have is sitting here," he gently caressed Sansa's hair, "and I would like to know why she's as tender and emotional as a marble statue."

Suddenly Sansa spoke up:

"You would be, in my place, my lord husband."

"Tyrion," he corrected, taking her hands. "Don't be like this, Sansa. It's just me and Arya with you here, no need for lordhusbanding. Come now, you'll feel better if you tell me what happened."

"You've asked Arya about it."

"I don't want to discuss you with your sister, as if you weren't here yourself."

"Why?" she wanted to know.

"I've said…"

"Why are you pretending to care? You will do much better if you annul the marriage."

"Because I'm not _pretending_ , Sansa. I care for you."

Arya almost snorted. He cared for her indeed! The Halfman's reputation was well-known. He wanted nothing but for a pretty girl to share his bed. Surely he was now regretting his decision not to touch Sansa. She has matured after all. 

Thankfully, her sister wasn't deceived easily anymore. She spoke in the same impassive tone:

"Here's something for you to stop caring. I abandoned you after Joffrey's death, plain and clear, and have never regretted it. I lived with Baelish, who made me pretend I was his bastard and fondled me in secret. Then," finally her voice faltered a little, "I was carried away by Sandor Clegane. We escaped to Braavos and on our w-way we b-became lov-vers," she was shaking now. "We were g-going to m-m-marry here, but then… but… b-but…"

"The Plague," Tyrion said faintly. He held Sansa as she fell into a fit of uncontrollable weeping. 

"She tried to make it look crude to disgust you, but they did love each other," Arya whispered to him. "When the healer told her that he had died… I'll never forget it. She screamed – an awful heartwrenching scream – and collapsed on the ground, clawing the earth. It's been five moons since then."

Tyrion rose:

"Help me get her up. Now. She'll drown herself in the pool if she spends one more day in this place. I'm taking her to Queen Daenerys."

That was hardly a surprise to Arya. If he was able to sneak away to Essos and keep his large head on his shoulders, why couldn't he sneak his path into the Dragon Queen's confidence?

But she had to agree with him now. The house of killers was no place for Sansa. 

"Is it a long way to her residence?"

"Residence sounds too magnificent for the place, but yes."

"Then wait a moment. I shall arrange for a transport."

Perhaps Tyrion's appearance was a stroke of luck for Sansa after all, she thought as she crept through the corridors. Now, where _could_ he be…

A hand clenched hers. 

"What has upset a lovely girl so?" a velvety voice with just barely audible hints of concern said in her ear. "Did the girl's sister take the gift?"

Her favorite face today. With the Lorathi accent that excited her so much. Arya smiled in satisfaction. Such were the ways of having a Faceless lover. This was the face he had worn when they first met…

"No, she's fine – Jaqen, stop, later, now I need to talk to you," she squeaked as he pressed light kisses to her neck. 

"What's a sweet girl's concern, then?" he whispered against her skin.

"Sansa's husband has reappeared. We need to help him bring her to the Dragon Queen."


	3. The gallant man

So Tyrion Lannister had turned up? It was a bit of a relief, he had to admit. The kindly man's patience was wearing out: Sansa Stark's presence in the House breached every rule possible. As if rules hadn't already been very much broken.

The one nicknamed "the gallant man" among his companions chuckled softly to himself. Since Arya Stark _was_ a talented assassin, the kindly man tolerated the fact she wasn't ever going to be a perfect Faceless. Always, whether in the dungeons of Harrenhal or in the streets of Braavos, she remained a Stark of Winterfell deep within. And she was never the one to obey any laws strictly... of course, it was _his_ own fault as well... A year and a half ago, after at last returning from Westeros, the gallant man saw her, grown, learned, and much lovelier than before, and from that time knew for sure he wanted her. What thrilled him even more was that she wanted him. A Stark lady, with an eight-thousand-year-old line behind her – linked with a Faceless Man! It was totally unacceptable, and that's what he and Arya delighted in.

The kindly man had to live true to his nickname for once. He claimed it acceptable. Two Faceless having an affair. 

But now, when a strange person was constantly in the House, seeing practically all its secrets, the kindly man felt his kindliness tried too much.

The gallant man didn't like it a lot either. Lady Sansa was doing nothing but wailing, sobbing and begging for the gift, and instead of giving it to her and _quieting_ all this Arya spent day and night by her side, trying to reawaken her will to live. Sometimes, the gallant man was tempted to give Sansa the black cup when her sister would be away, but he knew it would also mean the end of his... whatever he had with Arya.

Now, finally, Lord Lannister had come for his wife. The gallant man had to act fast to ensure they actually _left_. The dwarf might change his mind when he learns what Sansa has been up to during their separation.

Walking out of the House, the gallant man changed his face to the most recent one. The face of Jaqen H'ghar was only for the House's dark halls, put on solely to please the sweet girl. Out in Braavos, the man had been known for the past two months as Arlio Bendis, owner and lender of cheap good boats.

It was easy to arrange for one of them to be sent to the Temple of the Moonsingers. Not the House of Black and White, of course! The Temple was nearby, and so crowded inside and outside that it made it the perfect hiding place.

Soon Arlio returned to the House, where Lord and Lady Lannister were waiting, accompanied by the Cat of the Canals. He noted that Sansa looked just as cold as ever, but her nose was red and her face puffy, and from time to time Tyrion stroked her hand comfortingly.

"The boat is waiting, my lord – my lady," he bowed respectfully. "Only four gold coins, for the high lords you are."

"Meaning you'd like the high lords to give you forty more as a tip?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "I've got to economize now, but I shall send them from Casterly Rock when I get there. A Lannister always pays his debts."

"Thank you, my lord. Come, I'll show you the way."

All of them followed him as he walked away, and in a moment he turned around and grasped the Cat of the Canals by the collar:

"Do you think it wise for you to go in the same boat as Lord and Lady Lannister?'

"Why not?" she spat defiantly. Oh, how he loved it.

"Don't tell me a peasant like you has even a single coin of other than copper."

"Yes, I do," the Cat showed him an iron coin. "Valar morghulis."

Displaying the extreme of annoyance and embarrassment, Arlio grumbled a barely intelligible "valar dohaeris" and turned to the noble couple:

"I am so sincerely sorry, my good lords, but if you could be so graceful as to spare this girl a place on your boat..."

"Listen, I don't care, just bring us quickly to the Moonlight Inn where Queen Daenerys is," Tyrion began but was interrupted by Sansa's bored voice:

"Don't mind these two, my lord... Tyrion. That's their favorite roleplay. They pretend not to know each other."

"Meaning?" Clearly he hadn't seen Arya's transformation.

"It's Arya," Sansa pointed to the Cat, "and this one's another of them, Arya calls him Jaqen."

Arlio wanted to punch her or give her the gift straight away. That's what came of his and the kindly man's indulgence! Now she'll go on spilling out secrets of the Faceless!

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone else," she shrugged, sensing his anger. "But my lord's right. Get us to wherever we're going to, and then you and _the Cat of the Canals_ will have all the time in the world."

In the meantime Tyrion was staring at them awestruck.

"I salute you," he said finally as they walked further. "I'll say to Queen Daenerys that no one else would be better for the job than you. If needed."

"Thank you, my lord," Arlio replied humbly. "I assure you I try to gather the finest wood for my boats."

It was necessary to deliberately grasp the wrong meaning: the quiet part of the isle was past them, and many people were around.

Soon their boat was quietly sliding down the canal. The Cat was sitting away from it, her head lowered – a beggar girl who had no place among lords. Sansa sat upright, looking ahead of herself, her face a white mask, more a mask than the Cat's. Tyrion tried to get more words from her.

"Would you like a hood, Sansa? Your skin's likely to burn under the sun."

She shook her head. As usual. She had already spoken much in the day and apparently thought it more than enough.

"Sansa, the Queen is going to attack Westeros in a matter of weeks. Have just a little patience and you'll be home soon."

"My duty is with my lord husband," she reminded him, and Tyrion rolled his eyes:

"You didn't think so in the past three years!"

The girl pulled her hand away from his and stood up, tears and rage alike glistening again in her eyes:

"What right do you have to judge me?"

"You're hysterical, Sansa. One moment your duty's with me, the next I have no right to judge you. Of course I have none. You've been through much, and believe me, I understand you. I will ask the Queen to grant us an annulment, she'll give you Winterfell after the conquest, and all will be settled."

"No, it won't," at least she made no more effort to hide her pain. "Only for you, perhaps. You'll be free to sit with your books at Casterly Rock and enjoy yourself in the brothels of Lannisport without any wife bothering you. But I will again be married, to Willas Tyrell or someone from Dorne or anyone from other big house, and I will have to leave Winterfell again."

"You can become a healer or a septa," he pointed out. "Then no one will trouble you with proposals."

"A healer!" she groaned. "As if me being a healer now would bring _him_ back!"

"Or heal you," Tyrion added gingerly. She didn't reply. The rest of the trip was deafeningly silent. It was a wonder that the dwarf still took the trouble to take care of his faithless wife. Arlio wouldn't have even bothered with a formal annulment. 

He glanced over to the Cat. Thankfully, Arya was never like this. Even in the moments of her greatest despair, she fought and never surrendered.

After an eternity or so, the azure roofs of the Moonlight Inn appeared in a distance. Right now, the richest inn of all was occupied only by the Dragon Queen, her followers and the dragons.

"There you are, my lord, my lady," Arlio bowed once more and took the coins from Tyrion. Sansa hugged the Cat and kissed her on the cheek:

"Are you sure you're staying?"

The Cat nodded.

"Goodbye, Arya. I'll... I'll write to you."

"Live, Sansa," she whispered. "At least for my sake."

The Lannisters left, and Sansa walked graciously towards the inn, Tyrion trying to keep the same pace. The Cat watched them, her eyes moist.

"You get out also, it's none of your place," Arlio snarled at her.

"Bring me back to the temples," she demanded.

"Now what? Have you stolen some gold from these rich people?"

"No! I'm no thief, unlike some! That boat of yours is hardly worth a copper!"

He knew where she was trying to get. She obviously could barely keep herself together.

"You might want to pay me in some other way," he grinned meaningfully as he rowed the boat to one of the banks, where he had already spotted a suitable shadowed yard.

"How dare you, you filth! I'm an honest girl!"

She overplayed a bit, with fists and kicks – her self-control was slipping. Arlio dragged her into the yard and pulled her tight against him – so that she finally broke into tears against his shirt.

"It was never her place," he spoke, grasping her breasts so that no one would suspect a thing with one hand and stroking her hair with another. "She belongs with them. The court and the lords, Westeros. It will heal her. And I'll ask the kindly man to let you go and visit her."

He hoped she didn't notice his own gladness that the most annoying and unwanted guest ever had left.


	4. Daenerys

The sun was already setting when Tyrion returned. She had by then long finished her business in the Iron Bank. 

"Well?" she asked. "How did it turn out?"

"They rejected the offer. They won't agree on anything in advance, in case, as last resort... only if we come with a certain and direct request."

Dany didn't feel too disappointed. She was against an alliance with the Faceless from the start. It was a cowardly way of winning – _sending_ someone to kill your enemy! It wasn't winning actually, it was admitting defeat and weakness.

"But there is something more," Tyrion continued, his eyes shifting as he gestured for someone to enter the room. "Er... Daenerys, may I introduce Sansa Stark, my lady wife."

His lady wife? Here?

An incredibly pale girl of about sixteen or seventeen walked inside. She was good-looking in her own way – blue eyes, copper-colored glossy hair – but Daenerys could feel the frosty pride radiating from her. Lady Sansa smiled, the coldest and most joyless smile she had ever seen, and curtsied elegantly:

"My Queen. It is an utmost pleasure to meet you."

Her eyes were like glass or... a dead person's eyes. She looked even frightening in the Braavosi setting. Dany realized it was a true daughter of the North standing in front of her. Surrounded by snow and ice, Sansa Stark would have looked less out of place.

"Lady Sansa," Dany smiled encouragingly. "Please do take a seat. I understand that it's the first time you meet your husband since you were both accused of the Young Usurper's murder?"

Sansa ascertained it. She was about to ask something more about Sansa's whereabouts during the past three years, but Tyrion threw her a warning look and hurriedly said:

"My lady wife's had many misfortunes. She's too distressed to speak of them. Actually," he hesitated, "if it pleases you, we were going to ask for an annulment of our marriage. To speak bluntly, we are not attached to one another and have never consummated the wedlock."

Annulment?.. Tyrion did tell her about his less-than-cordial relations with his wife, but to go this far! Daenerys thought of it. The North was clawing towards independence, as she heard. It was occupied by some tyrannical Boltons now, who were hated by everyone else. There were reports of the Others, wights, and who knows what else from the Wall. All other Starks besides Sansa were dead. Will Dany have to storm through the northern lands with dragons to conquer it, risking tearing these lands apart completely in a many-sided war? 

"I'm sorry," she said, looking at Tyrion and Sansa. "I'm truly sorry, but it seems your marriage is the only key to the North right now. I need a Stark of Winterfell to be tied to my supporters."

Tyrion looked dejected. Did he have another woman in mind? But he turned to Sansa, and Dany knew that he was grieving for her sake.

"Forgive me," he whispered.

His wife didn't look affected by the news in any way.

"Oh, Lady Sansa, don't think me so uncaring," Dany cried, feeling a surge of pity for the person behind the icy courtesy. "I know what it's like to be married solely for your land's sake. Had I known a better way to get the North to me, I would have given you freedom this very instant."

"I am loyal to my lord husband, Your Grace. I am glad to stay with him," was the only response she got.

Tyrion looked as if he wanted to be miles away.

"May we be excused?" he asked, and seeing Dany nod, escorted his wife in the direction of his chambers.

Daenerys let out an exasperated sigh:

"Poor Tyrion! He might as well be married to a chunk of ice."

"All Starks are like this," Ser Jorah said from the door, where he insisted on standing guard. "Frozen in their damned honor and pride."

"Mind your tongue, Mormont, it's better than having no honor at all like some people," Ser Barristan countered. "I knew the child – well, she's not much of a child now – in King's Landing. Had you seen the bright thing she was at eleven, when she first came there, you would have hardly known her now. Such a radiant, delightful girl, all smiles and laughter, the poor one, so earnestly in love with Joffrey. Nothing was left of it after her father's head was chopped off in front of her eyes."

Daenerys shivered, remembering how she had to smother the last spark of life from her sun-and-stars, herself. The memory still haunted her sometimes at night.

"Speaking of her father... Do you think it wise, Khaleesi – accepting the daughter of Eddard Stark into your service?" Jorah's brows furrowed in a sudden worry.

 _Why, you of all people should be glad. With Tyrion distracted by a pretty wife, you'll have one reason less to be jealous._ Aloud she said:

"I should remind you that my new Hand is the Kingslayer's brother..."

"You know I don't appreciate that either," he smiled weakly.

"I am sure of his loyalty. As for his wife... Right now she looks like she doesn't care about a thing in the world."

"It could be pretence, Khaleesi. Many times the most fierce plans of revenge were nestled behind an icy exterior."

"Of revenge, yes, mayhaps," Dany laughed. "But do you seriously think she wants to avenge a long dead aunt of hers that she had never even known? If there is a plan revenge, it's directed at the usurpers of King's Landing."

Jorah was still reluctant. Probably to atone for his own past treason, he was overly suspicious of anyone coming to serve Daenerys from Westeros. Although she usually avoided the topic of his feelings for her, now she decided to hint aloud after all:

"Besides, isn't it wonderful that Tyrion has his lovely wife back! I hope he'll cheer her up in the end."

Her bear knight's only reply was an embarrassed smile, and Dany immediately felt guilty. Since she had granted him an official pardon, Jorah was absolutely bursting with happiness. If his love could be noticed before, now only a blind man didn't see it. She still didn't know what to do with it. After Daario left her, she was firm not to let be carried away by any kind of passion anymore. What is more, she had never felt a passion for Jorah. On the other hand, he was her closest companion, even counting Tyrion, and another alliance with the North will do her more good than harm. Better Jorah than some Westerosi noble, unfamiliar with the eastern customs, who would still associate the Targaryens with her mad father, would proclaim himself King and let their children (if indeed there would be any) take his name... Never! So after much consideration Dany concluded that indeed it would be best to marry Jorah. After the conquest.

She looked at him again, and he turned his eager look to her. She blushed.  _No, not yet. Only when I sit on the Iron Throne._ He  _doesn't want the throne, luckily for me. But if I marry him now, he won't want to help me with the conquest at all. That's the problem with Jorah. For him, love comes first and the kingdom second or third or tenth. He doesn't fully understand. What sort of kingdom did he have, anyway – a small island in the far north..._

***

On the following morning, Daenerys was informed that Lady Lannister would like a private audience.

"She won't have it like yesterday," Tyrion explained. "All your Queensguard staring at her. Me standing by. She wants to talk to you, personally."

"Of course," a bit puzzled, Dany agreed.

Lady Sansa looked much better than the previous evening. Her rags were changed for a Lannister red dress with golden embroidery, her hair was done beautifully – but it wasn't the main thing. Her stern face now had a genuine smile on it, if with traced of sadness.

"My Queen," she curtsied again, but the icy voice had turned affectionate and respectful.

"Yes, my dear? Your husband said you'd like to talk to me."

"Aye, my Queen. I... well... Tyrion said you'd understand me," she fidgeted. "He spoke with me also. It has been... oh, it has been such a long time since I could confide in anyone. In the House of Black and White... they could barely stand me..."

"How did you end up there?" Dany wanted to know.

"I hid there after I recovered from the plague. I'd have told you more, but... you may know, Your Grace... they and their secrecy..."

"I might imagine," she laughed. "An assassin guild is bound to keep something to themselves, even in a Free City like this."

"What I w-wanted to tell you is that I'm on your side. Honestly. Tyrion said you may be suspicious because I'm a Stark. But I'll support you, and not because I'm Tyrion's wife, I'd have supported you even after an annulment."

"I'm happy to hear it, Sansa. For myself, I must say again that I would have given one..."

Sansa shook her head decisively:

"No, my Queen. I know now that there's no way of me abandoning my people in the North. If you had annulled my wedlock, I'd have become a septa, but I realize now it's impossible. They need a Stark of Winterfell. And Tyrion is, to speak frankly, the best option of a husband I have now."

She spoke with such certainly that Dany was amazed:

"You are sure?"

"Of course. I've seen more than my share of possible other spouses in the past six years, thank you very much. First, I need to have a great lord, as befits a Stark," Dany spotted bitterness in her voice but didn't question it. "Well, the rightful great lords or heirs besides him are: Willas Tyrell. No more Tyrells for me after they had framed us for Joffrey's poisoning. Also Willas is a cripple. Then, Edmure Tully, my uncle and married. The living male Martells, both married. The only true Baratheon living, as I've heard, is a girl Shireen, someone's ward, and the rest of them are still sorting out which of Robert's bastards is to inherit. Euron Greyjoy, a bloodthirsty pirate. And Sweetrobin, meaning, ehm, Lord Robert Arryn of the Vale. I left him for the Royces to foster, I hope he will be intelligent enough to keep them as advisors. No, my Queen, Tyrion's the most suitable one even politically. Second, he's _good_. The only man still alive who was truly kind to me during my captivity in King's Landing," she sighed heavily.

Dany had gathered before from Tyrion's stories that he was the only one of all. But hearing that bitter sadness in Sansa's voice again, she decided against searching through it further. 

"So we've agreed, haven't we, Sansa?" she smiled, wishing to lighten the somber mood. "I'll give you your Winterfell and the North, and you'll stay Tyrion's wife and my ally."

"A fair deal, my Queen."


	5. Sansa

She had been living in the House of Black and White for five long months. Ever since the day that would be her nightmare forever. When she opened her eyes, still weak after the fever, and asked for Sandor...

**Five moons prior**

_"Who?" a healer with a tired face asked._

_"Sandor, my... husband," she faltered. "He promised to be by my side all the time. Where is he?"_

_The healers, gathered around the bed, whispered to each other._

_"That tall man with burns?" one of them asked. "Yes, he was there when we came for you. Of course, already with the plague on him, poor man."_

_The plague on him? No, no, it couldn't be! Sandor, with his strength, his vitality, his health, he couldn't surrender to it!_

_"Is he alright now?" she cried, rising on her elbows. "Please tell me. I'll nurse him if anything..."_

_"We were overcrowded by the time, I sent him to Kirette's healing tent," the healer replied. "I'll go check there."_

_An hour of anticipation. Of course Sandor must be close to being cured by now. He was a born survivor. Of course..._

_The healer returned with the Cat of the Canals, whom Sansa now knew to be Arya, but without Sandor._

_"I'm sorry to say, child," she said solemnly. "He was never even treated. It seems he sat by your side too long, without taking care of himself, and combined with the disease..."_

_"Stop it!" Sansa jumped up, refusing to believe it. "Stop it_ right now!  _Where is he?! What happened?!"_

_"Your husband died when they were carrying him to Kirette's," the healer sighed. "I am very, very sorry. They put him into a mass grave."_

_No. No. No. It couldn't be happening. Not Sandor. He lived after Gregor burnt him. He lived after Blackwater. He lived after the horrible fight at the Crossroads Inn. No. No. Never him. Never him. Never him. Never him. He wouldn't leave her alone._

_"He must live," she whispered._

_"I am sorry."_

_The world blackened around Sansa. She heard an ear-piercing scream, faintly knowing that it came from her. Sandor, her beloved, her faithful Hound, dead. It was wrong. He promised to be by her side. He wouldn't die. It was wrong. They must have buried him alive._

_The last thing Sansa was aware of was clawing the earth with her fingers in a futile attempt to get Sandor back..._

Arya carried her to the House of Black and White, of course. Forced her to eat, gave her sleeping mixtures. The head of the guild wasn't so keen to let an outsider into their community, but Arya persuaded him it was only for a while. Still, it was clear they had never liked Sansa. Even Arya's lover, with his constant flourishing courtesies, made it clear they tolerated her for Arya's sake only. 

And then Tyrion came. She understood that he did care for her, despite everything. He insisted on taking her away. It made no difference to her, but she was glad she wouldn't be an embarrassing burden to Arya any longer. 

The trip to the inn was a torture. Sansa felt a comforting arm around hers, but whenever she instinctively reached towards it, she didn't brush Sandor's strong body. Instead, there was the malformed one of her husband. The girl wanted to scream like all these months ago, scream so hard and loud that all feelings would dull. Only a shred of sanity held her back – and, as much as she didn't want to admit it, a shred of pity for Tyrion. He was as much a slave to his duty as she was. Knowing of everything she had done, he still had to bear her presence.

When the Targaryen Queen refused to annul the marriage, Sansa wasn't even surprised. She would never be free, it was obvious, so why give her an illusion of freedom? Daenerys began to apologize and tell her that it wasn't in her power, but Sansa wasn't as silly as she used to be. She looked at the Queen's tanned face, with violet eyes and platinum hair – and saw the marble skin, merciless green eyes and golden curls of Cersei Lannister.

It seemed to reflect in her face as Tyrion excused them both and led her to their chambers.

"Sansa," he said firmly as soon as they were behind safely closed door. "It's not like King's Landing. At least, not in every aspect."

"What do you mean?" she wondered.

"Queen Daenerys isn't another Cersei. Do you think I would be serving her if she was? She is, I have to admit, a bit rash and inexperienced in her rule, but she has good advisors whom she actually _listens_ to. And she's kind. Kind in truth. She's sorry for you and she'll support your claim to Winterfell."

Sansa sighed, putting her hands to her eyes:

"Oh, Tyrion. I'm so tired of it all. Queen This and Queen That, claim of the North, alliances, everything. I don't want to return to it. I want to go back to Sandor and our little house near Ragman's Harbor. I don't want _this_ life," she swallowed the coming tears.

"If you continue to behave like you did today, it will grow worse," Tyrion insisted. "Daenerys is different. She has lived among the Dothraki and values honesty and openness more than anything. She will be your true friend, if you allow it."

True friend... Sansa remembered so few of them. Even Arya wasn't a friend in the strict sense of the word – they had grown too different in their years apart. Apart from Sandor, she had had no one at all in the last years. A new flow of ache pressed onto her heart. An ache for someone to understand her, to protect her. Arya said it right earlier, Sandor would have wanted her to live on...

"And you, Tyrion? Will you be a friend?" she asked.

"If you want me to," he smiled, stroking her hand. "I won't pretend to be an adequate replacement for... you know... but at least you should know you can rely on me."

She was frightened and uncertain, she had to admit. After five moons in seclusion, she had forgotten how to talk to anyone. Least of all people who wanted to be friends with her. And accepting her fate with Tyrion stung her as betraying Sandor. Even though she knew it was farcical: betraying a lover, who has died, with a husband!

"You're still in need of healing, Sansa," he spoke softly. "We might at least give it a try. Since Daenerys is adamant on us staying married."

"All right," she murmured. "I… I confess, it was foul of me to leave you after Joffrey…"

"Quiet, my dear. It was maybe not very dutiful, but in the end it saved both our lives. Jaime," he scowled, "helped me escape, and I barely made it to Essos. With you in tow, it would have been much harder to conceal ourselves. As for yourself..." his face cleared again. "You've had some happiness at least to remember."

"What about you?" she asked suddenly, feeling a surge of compassion. Tyrion gave her a mirthless smirk:

"Well, I can now write a good research on Essosi slavery, let's say that. No Archmaester from the Citadel knows as much on the subject."

"You were a... a slave?" Sansa uttered in shock. That was the worst fate one could be degraded to! Her husband might use... inappropriate words, he might frequent brothels, but all the same, he always remained a Lannister of Casterly Rock. It was horrifying to imagine him enslaved.

"No need to become this white," he said. "To be honest, many slaves don't live much worse than our peasants. The thing that has suffered most is my pride."

"And you escaped?"

"After our master died, yes. Then I have done this and that, mostly trying to join Daenerys. Eventually, Jorah and I made it."

"Ser Jorah? From the Queensguard? Was he a slave too?"

"Oh yes, something that hit him badly. Don't look so startled, Sansa, knights can become slaves as well. Though I would rather he remained so. He's a decent fighter and (when he's in a good mood) an adequate travel companion, but right now only one thought remains in his head, and that's of bedding the Queen."

Sansa felt herself blushing:

"Tyrion, you shouldn't speak so of a Queensguard knight..."

"Back to your eleven-year-old attitude all of a sudden?" Tyrion chuckled. "Trust me, the Queensguard is no more sinless than the Kingsguard."

"What if I want to believe otherwise? Oh, it's such a long time since I've _trusted_ people who rule over me..."

It was true. A part of Sansa's soul there was, hidden deep, that still wished to believe in kind, just monarchs. If she had to return to a courtly life, she wanted to think that it would be a better life than in King's Landing...

"Daenerys is in fact to be trusted, as I've said. At least as much as one can trust a ruler. Tell you what, you should have a private audience with her, tomorrow if you feel up to it. It will be easier for you to make conversation when alone."

"I can't even look at her without recalling Cersei," Sansa said with disgust. "How _she_  praised me and invited me to tea, and how she told me Joffrey loves me, and... everything else, always with a honeyed smile! I've forgotten how to believe kind people. "

"All the more reason for Daenerys and you to get on friendly terms. It will help you get over memories."

Tyrion drank a goblet of wine (Sansa smiled to herself, feeling that some things never change) and rose up:

"Now, Sansa, make yourself at home, it's your new bedroom. I'll be in the adjoining room or in the study. We have a good dozen rooms all to our use, by the way. If you need anything, ask me or ring that bell over there. It's for the maidservants. But practically all of them are Dothraki, and their Common Tongue isn't always easy to decipher, especially for the first times. So – good night, I hope you have a nice sleep at last."

He turned to leave, when Sansa grasped his hand:

"Tyrion... wait..."

"What is it, dear?"

"Th-thank you," she stuttered, lowering her eyes. "Thank you so much."

"It's nothing, Sansa," nevertheless, he looked immensely pleased as he grinned at her and went away, turning his head back to look at her a few times.


	6. Tyrion

On the following day Sansa looked much better. She had that audience with the Queen and came back quite cheerful. 

"She was very nice indeed to me," she told Tyrion. "I told her I'd support her."

"And then she was nicer still?" he winked. "Never mind. Would you like anything, Sansa?"

She gave him a puzzled look:

"Anything what?"

"Anything _anything_. Some more new dresses. Lemoncakes. Whatever."

After some thought, she managed to amaze him.  

"I would want a place at the Queen's small council, or whatever she calls it," she announced. 

"You? Only yesterday you said you don't want your courtly life back."

"Tyrion, you of all people I didn't expect to misundersrand. I don't want to be a pawn anymore. Even," she smiled, for the first time ever playful, "a pawn who has dresses and lemoncakes and a golden-haired husband who makes good jokes. I want to have my own say here."

Suddenly, she stopped and added cautiously:

"Of course… if you wouldn't mind me… I'm a woman after all, my place is…"

"You're a Stark _and_ a Lannister," Tyrion said. "Let me remind you that Daenerys is no less a woman than you are."

"So you don't object?" her face brightened again. 

"Naturally not. I like it that you're determined."

"Determined to make the most of the life I'm forced to continue, yes. Don't you think me incapable. Baelish, whoreson that he was," Tyrion couldn't help but let out a laugh upon hearing his proper polite wife cursing, "he instructed me a lot in the game of thrones."

"That's good. I could help you as well," Tyrion added after some hesitation. He didn't want Sansa to think he was trying to force attentions on her. She didn't now, however. 

"On the condition that you drink at least three times less," she outstretched her hand, and he took it. "When we were married before… well… your smell of wine frightened me."

That wasn't as easy as it sounded. Tyrion wasn't used to having his drinking habits controlled. But if that was the price for Sansa accepting him – even as a friend and advisor and not a lover – he would try. In the two days that passed, his previous longing for her had sprung anew. A relationship like this was better than the torture he had been put through in their early days of marriage.

What was more, absurd as it was, now he could actually allow himself to hope for something more in the future. Sansa was no child and no maiden, the marriage bed wouldn't scare her any longer. If – if! – she would feel some attraction to him in the least, his deformities wouldn't matter. She had loved the Hound so deeply – loved him still – and he wasn't much more handsome than Tyrion, and back in King's Landing (unless he was grossly mistaken) it was in fact Clegane that frightened her more. Yet she had loved him. Why, then, not Tyrion?

"Tyrion."

He was pulled out of his musings by his wife tugging at his elbow.

"Tyrion?"

"Yes?"

"Have you seen the dragons?"

He was very much amused by the thought: in all the mess with Sansa's arrival, they had completely forgotten about Daenerys's famous children. 

"I have," he said importantly. "I could show them to you – they're in the yard."

"Oh, please do!" she jumped excitedly. He had only seen her so thrilled in Winterfell, when she was a wide-eyed girl smitten with Joffrey and overwhelmed with the court splendor. 

He gave her his arm and led her to the inn's yard – the only place to accommodate (with difficulty) all three dragons.

The abovementioned celebrities gave him and Sansa bored looks as they spotted them. As Viserion's rider, he was long known to the dragons, and some young girl as his companion wasn't much of a phenomenon either. 

Drogon raised an eyelid and went back to sleeping. Rhaegal hardly spared a look to the visitors as he was busy munching on a large pig. Viserion wiggled his tail and licked his teeth, hoping to go flying. 

Sansa let out a dazzled "Oh!" as she gazed at the beasts, stupefied. 

"Want to fly one?" he suggested. 

"Y-you can fly them?" Sansa flinched back. "But they're so enormous – and with fangs!"

"I'm a dragonrider, my dear," Tyrion explained, vainly trying to sound modest. "This white one is mine. Viserion, he's named."

Sansa was wordless. He walked over to the dragon and motioned her to follow him. 

Now, Viserion didn't mind his rider strolling around with some girl or other, but when the girl attempted to climb him too, he didn't like it very much. 

"Stop," Tyrion commanded, stroking the dragon's neck. "Quiet. Get slower," to Sansa. 

As she was safely by his side, he whispered:

"Hold on now. Viserion, go!"

The dragon was ready. A few flaps of his gigantic wings – and they had the whole Braavos beneath them, with houses looking like child's toys and the silvery net of the canals. 

"Oh," his wife exhaled again, clinging tightly to him. "Oh. What it's going to be when they raid Westeros!"

"A spectacle to remember, no doubt," Tyrion said. "You'll soon see for yourself. Daenerys plans on beginning her conquest in three moon's turns at most."

"Winterfell," she whispered dreamily, turning her head to the north-west. She was more beautiful than she had ever been, her red hair tousled by the wind and almost glowing in the sun, her cheeks flushed and her blue eyes hopeful. 

"Aye, you'll have it at last."

"And we'll have Casterly Rock," she surprised him once again. "Do you remember you wanted to show it to me?"

He did. He didn't like to remember it, though – her icy reply all these years ago stung him terribly and still hurt. 

"Why do you suddenly wish to see the Lannisters' den?" he asked bitterly and hated himself the same instant for ruining the moment. 

Sansa sighed deeply. It seemed like all her pain, grief, and loneliness of the past months were put into that single sigh. Then she said so quietly he could barely hear her in the wind:

"I want to be healed."


End file.
